


Reversal

by mneiai



Series: Bastard Princes - fAegon & Jon Snow fics [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon is a Blackfyre, Alternate Universe - Blackfyre Rebellion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jon Snow is Called Aemon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Aemon wanted little to do with the rebellions, he just wanted a life of peace.





	Reversal

Aemon had no interest in the wars of his forefathers. His family could obsess over them as much as they wanted, over the idea of that his father was the "rightful" king and it should be they sitting in the Red Keep, ruling the Seven Kingdoms, Aemon wanted no part in it.

They ignored that, though, willfully, dragging him to their meetings with potential allies, having him train with the knights still loyal (or who had been banished for one reason or another) and the sellswords whose loyalty was bought or indoctrinated. 

"Someday we will take back what is ours by right, my son," his father told him, often, "but until that day, you must be prepared to fight for it. I was like you, when I was younger, but I realized the truth of matters. We are meant to rule, not to hide in the East."

By the time he was ten and four, it was no great effort for him to leave. He'd hoarded coin and other small valuables for years, had clothes that were good quality for traveling but not so good as to make him stand out, and weapons of his own that he knew how to use.

He'd only hesitated over Dark Sister for a few moments, debating bringing it with him, but knew that for as much as his family would think him a traitor, he wasn't, not really.

He just wanted peace. 

His mother had died when he was young, he remembered very little of her, but had learnt some from his older siblings and other relatives. She'd fled Westeros and a betrothal she did not want, had met his father and fallen in love, or at least infatuation. He had seen her as a key to another kingdom, the way he'd seen his wife before her, and Aemon did not know if he'd cared for either of them more than that.

But what he did know, clearly, was that she'd been from the North. A Stark of Winterfell. And had left behind three brothers and a father.

It was there he went, taking a ship to Bravos and then to White Harbor. Finding a place as a laborer with merchants traveling to the capital of the North.

He'd never felt cold like this, never seen snow before, but he found himself far less affected than the people around him. There was something invigorating about it, even.

And Winterfell. Seeing it, stepping inside of it...well, he'd never thought he'd experience such in his lifetime. 

The guards looked askance at him, at first, as he pulled out the necklace his mother had worn the entire time he'd known her and had left to him. A delicately worked Stark direwolf in the traditional way of the Mountain Clans. It had been her grandmother's, he had been told.

A look at his face, though, was what made the guards believe him. He'd always been told he looked like his mother, looked like a Stark, but it wasn't until he was ushered into a room with the Lord of Winterfell--his mother's eldest brother--that he realized how true that was.

Someone might be able to mistake him for Brandon's son, surely, if they did not know of his mother.

Uncle Brandon (and he was the one that insisted Aemon call him such), cried against his shoulder, clutching him tightly, when he spoke the story of his mother's fate. 

"Of course you can stay here," he insisted, still touching Aemon as if waiting for him to disappear. "But...but you must understand, having an Aemon Targaryen under my roof in Westeros...."

"I don't mind going by another name, uncle. I just...I want to know my mother's family. And be around from my father's."

Brandon grimaced any time his father, or the Targaryens in general, were brought up, and named Aemon as Jon Stark instead. No one in Winterfell had known of his mother's marriage to a Targaryen and so they would say she had fallen for a sellsword in Essos and that Aemon was the son of a man of no consequence.

He'd be lying if he didn't say that was a freeing feeling. All of Winterfell treated him as one of their own, his cousins taking him under their wings, his other two uncles hurrying back with their families to meet him.

They expected nothing from him and didn't try to push him to be anything he wasn't. He'd only ever known that feeling with his own mother, before.

***

Aemon--or Jon, as he'd started to even think of himself as--had three blissful years of peace in Winterfell. Brandon had started to speak to him of small keeps he could have, of inconsequential Northern betrothals that could work for him. Sometimes he thought his uncle had forgotten who he really was, that he'd convinced himself that the lies they told were the truth.

Except then yet another Targaryen Rebellion broke out. Jon's father and eldest brother were at the helm.

Jon watched as Winterfell made preparations for war, even before the King called upon them. And had a very awkward conversation with his uncles and eldest cousins, where they tried to decide what he should do, what excuses they could make for not sending him--who was known as an exemplary swordfighter and always ready to take on bandits or wildlings--to battle.

Not that it mattered. For a messenger arrived from King's Landing, requesting his presence. Requesting Aemon Targaryen.

"The King is a just man," Brandon had told him as they traveled South, but Jon had assumed he was more trying to convince himself. "He will see you for a Stark, know that you have nothing to do with this Rebellion."

Jon spent near a week in the Red Keep before being granted an audience with the King. He was not quite a prisoner, given nice enough accommodations and allowed through many areas of their ancestral home with a guard, but he still felt the looming sword of his fate hanging over him. His Stark family helped distract him in the only way they knew how--training in the yard together, until he was too exhausted to think, too weary to still feel the eyes of the court upon him.

And then, finally, the day came to meet the royal family.

The court was hushed when his presence was announced--no titles, as his father had always insisted when they went anywhere formal. Just...Aemon Targaryen, called Jon Stark, son of the rebel Rhaegar.

King Daemon III Blackfyre sat upon the Iron Throne their ancestors had forged, his family arrayed around it, and stared down at Jon with a cold expression. 

Would he die here, he wondered, staring at the foot of the throne as he knelt. Would he spend years locked into the Black Cells as a hostage, as Valarr had?

"Be at ease, cousin," the King finally said, after the silence had grown oppressive.

Jon risked another glance at his face, found it more calm than cold.

"Rise, please." Jon did. "It gladdens my heart to know that not all of the Dragonknight's line holds hatred towards mine own."

He'd grown used to the Blackfyre propaganda in the kingdom, even his own uncles and cousins spoke some of it, and so he did not react when the claim his ancestor Daeron II was illegitimate came from the King's mouth. 

"Tell us, cousin, what is it you want here in my kingdoms?"

Jon took a breath, remembering the lessons in decorum drilled into him from an early age. They might not think him a prince, here, but it could still help.

"I wish only a peaceful life, your grace, as a bannerman to my lord uncle, the Lord of Winterfell, and my cousin after him."

Daemon regarded him for a few more moments. "Now, that simply won't do." This time Jon did flinch, just a little, but he did not dare protest. "You are the first of your line to come in peace to us, cousin. I would have all know that we do not hold grudges against those who acknowledge their rightful King."

A murmur went up around the court, everyone else just as curious as Jon to find out what Daemon meant.

"I will have it known that our cousin, Aemon Targaryen, is acknowledged and legitimized." Jon felt his stomach drop. "A Prince of the realm. And, I hope, a dear companion to my heir, Aegor, Prince of Dragonstone."

Jon knew, immediately, what Daemon was doing. They had declared Daeron II a bastard, and that his line had no right to the Targaryen name. By legitimizing Jon, they were placing him before all of his family, were making him an obstacle his father and brother would have to contend with.

And by keeping him within Aegor's circle, were making him a hostage, on top of that.

"I thank you for your generosity, your grace, but, truly, it is too much. I am happy to live out my life as a Stark."

Daemon's lips were quirked into a slight smile, now, that Jon did not think many further away could see. He knew that Jon was aware of why he was doing this and the entire thing must seem almost like a game to him. He sat the throne, after all, his family populated the Red Keep, Dragonstone, and Summerhall, repelled Rebellion after Rebellion. What was Jon, but a plaything?

"Nonsense, cousin. It had been too long since a true Targaryen graced the world."

***

Uncle Brandon looked half ready to rebel, himself, but Jon talked him down. In a few years, perhaps, he could convince Daemon to allow him to visit the North. Or allow his Northern cousins to visit him. 

It wasn't worth fighting over, not when the consequences could mean thousands of lives.

Aegor was not unpleasant company, though sometimes he watched Jon so intently that Jon did not know what it was he was looking for. A sign of betrayal, perhaps? Of Jon secretly being some Targaryen plot against the throne?

Except that Aegor was nothing but friendly. He was a charming, talented young man, and Jon had to admit that he will make a good king, most like, and perhaps just wanted Jon as a loyal subject. They trained together, spoke at length of Essos and Westeros, of what Aegor's father had accomplished and what he planned to do, himself.

Until, that is, Jon walks in on him one night when he clearly did not mean to be interrupted, the Tyrell of their group under him, just as nude as the prince. Jon makes a hasty retreat, all but running back to the lavish rooms he'd been granted in the Holdfast as cousin.

He thought about it for too long, into the night, of what little he'd seen, of the look on Aegor's face, the lines of his body.

The next day, he avoided the prince. It was easy enough to do, distracting himself with lessons from the maesters and tasks for the Small Council. There were areas he had shown his usefulness in already and Daemon was testing him near constantly.

On the day after that, Jon wakes up from a mortifying dream of what he'd seen and went about, once more, avoiding Aegor as much as was physically possible.

He should have known, by now, that Aegor wouldn't just let that stand.

"I had heard Targaryens were more conservative in their relationships, but I didn't think _you_ would be."

"Ex-excuse me?" Jon glanced around the library he'd been reading in, tucked away in a hidden corner, and realized they were alone, the nearest person a Kingsguard far on the other side of the room.

"When Daemon II was still a prince, his father, King Daemon I, had to combat quite a few prejudices against men who enjoy the company of other men. Because of how the Targaryens had allowed Andal sentiments to take control." Jon frowned as Aegor moved closer to him, looming over where he sat. "Do you know why my father made you one of my companions?"

Jon swallowed, shrugged. "To keep an eye on a hostage."

Aegor rolled his eyes, the blue catching the light and glinting purple. "Because I asked him to. I'd seen you, when you first arrived. Saw you training with your uncle's men, saw you brooding in the godswood. And I thought to myself," he was so close, now, hands planted on either side of Jon, both of them breathing harder, "_I want him_."

"You--" Jon didn't know what to say to that and Aegor didn't give him much of a chance to collect his thoughts, kissing him roughly.

He'd kissed before, pillowgirls his brother tried to ply him into having sex with, some of the more forward ladies of the North, but he'd never kissed another man. And certainly never kissed anyone so...dominant.

Because Aegor didn't seem happy with just what they could manage with him awkwardly leaning over Jon's chair. He pushed it out, pulled Jon up, and bent him backwards over the table, not giving Jon much chance to protest.

Not that he was going to. Not when he'd been haunted by the memories of what he'd seen the other night.

"Why?" he finally asked, breathless, when Aegor let him up for air. "Why me?"

Aegor chuckled, rubbing their hips together. "You really don't know? You're beautiful, Aemon. Beautiful, and near-forbidden. I would make you mine for all the world--for your traitorous family who chased you off--to know."

Jon stared up at him, shivering in want-need-need and didn't know what to say to that. His family already surely thought him a traitor, what more harm could he do?


End file.
